


It Didn't Really Happen

by PinkPandorafrog



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, PWP, referenced Cullen/Lavellan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-08 20:23:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3222212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkPandorafrog/pseuds/PinkPandorafrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was an awful day, and she didn't want to be alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She climbed the stairs up the grand chamber they'd insisted on putting her in. For once she didn't notice the beams piled haphazardly around, promises of renovations to come. She automatically stepped over the wood that encroached just a little too far into the hallway, not really aware she'd done so. Why had they put her up _here_? Even Vivienne wasn't this far up.

Cullen had offered his bed, of course. No ulterior motive, just the prospect of spending the night fast asleep in the arms of her general, her lover... She'd declined, simply on the basis that it was further away. All those stairs, and then that ladder... He'd smiled and said he understood, but she hadn't missed the look of worry in his eyes.

Today had been especially long. All she wanted to do was collapse onto her bed and sleep... Well, sleep until the next big crisis came up, at least. Hopefully that was a few hours away.

Her hand felt heavy as she lifted it to push the final door open. More stairs. She needed to be grateful, she reminded herself. This place really was ideal for the Inquisition. It really wasn't surprising that a keep with the name of 'Skyhold,' would feature quite so many staircases, and she was sure that the view from her private balcony would be quite lovely, just as soon as she had a minute or two to appreciate it.

But that minute or two wasn't coming any time soon. Today had just been so very long. Battling her way to the top of the fortress, and then the Fade... Dorian's bed was closer. If she didn't know that there was a good chance that a large qunari was already in it, she would have just gone there. Dorian kept good wine in his room, it wouldn't have been the first time they'd lost themselves in a bottle and then passed out on his bright purple bedspread. It was good to have a friend like Dorian.

But tonight she was going to be alone. On perhaps the first night she'd needed someone since this whole business had started, her bed was going to be empty. That thought almost sent her back downstairs and onto the battlements...

She saw him just as she crested the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing as though it was the only thing holding her up.

He was sitting on her bed. Strangely, Bianca was nowhere in sight, just the dwarf in the open shirt sitting on the end of her bed with his elbows on his knees as he stared at her. The fire was blazing in the fireplace, but there were no other lights, and it was too dark to make out the expression on his face.

“Tell me how it happened.” There was none of his usual teasing, no lightheartedness in his tone. He sounded just as tired as she felt, bone-achingly weary.

Her heart twisted painfully. Though his presence in his room was certainly a surprise, the question wasn't. She was actually surprised that it hadn't come earlier.

She moved across the room, her feet shuffling along the cold floor until she reached the bed. Sinking down beside him with an audible groan, her shoulders slumped forward, hands twisting together in her lap. “We were almost out, but the demon wouldn't let us go. Someone needed to stay, to give us time...” She swallowed thickly, closing her eyes against the memories that were still playing out in front of her eyes. “They argued, Stroud and Hawke, they both insisted they should be the one to stay.”

Varric grunted, she thought she could detect a tone of approval in the noise. He didn't say anything, though, and this close she was able to see the large bottle he held in one hand. He wasn't drinking, but from the way he was holding it, it wasn't full.

“It fell to me. It always falls to me.” Her bitterness made her words fall flat between them. “Hawke... she's amazing, but Stroud can lead the Wardens.” She lifted her eyes from where she'd been studying her boots to look into his face, unsurprised to see that he was looking right at her, eyes shadowed in the dark room. “We need the Wardens. I wish... I wish there had been another way, but...” Words fell away, neither one of them wanted platitudes.

They stared at each other for a measure of time- seconds, eternity, it didn't matter. He grunted again and looked away first, lifting the bottle to his lips and having a long drink. When he lowered it again, he passed it directly to her. “No bullshit. Thanks, Marigold.”

She nodded, though she wasn't sure he saw, and took the bottle. After taking a long drink, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and tried to pass it back.

He shook his head. His elbows were back on his knees, he appeared to be staring into the dancing orange flames in the fireplace as he tugged on his sleeves, adjusting them. “I think you need that more than I do.”

She nodded and had another drink. They sat there in the semi-dark, the noises of the keep carrying up from far below, the occasional snap of wood from the fire a jolt in the darkness.

“Where's Curly?” His voice had regained some of its normal levity, but there was still a darkness there, a deep sorrow. That, somehow, hurt more. Fresh guilt twisted at her insides.

“His bed's too far away. He won't come up here because he thinks that what we have is still a secret, and everyone else comes up here to disturb me.”

Varric's sudden laughter startled them both. “I don't think there's a single person here who doesn't know that you two tested out how well his desk is put together.”

She lifted the bottle to him before tipping it up to drain the last of it. It made a hollow thunk as she set it down on the floor beside her foot, and then she was twisting her fingers in her lap again. “Where's Bianca?”

“She's too much tonight.” That explained nothing, but she nodded anyway.

“Thanks for not hating me.”

He let out a long sigh, and when he spoke again, his words came slowly as though he'd given them a great deal of thought. “If you hadn't settled it yourself, I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd just hit Stroud over the head and slung him up over your shoulder. Well, the Seeker's shoulder, anyway, you're built a bit like a twig.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Is that going in your book? I'm built like a twig?”

“Willowy, Marigold. It's more poetic.” She could hear the amusement in his voice. They fell into silence again for a time, and then he said, “I should go before you fall asleep on my shoulder. Might be awkward to explain when someone needs you for the next big event.”

“Stay.” The word was out of her mouth before she even thought about it, pleading, her hand on his arm.

He looked at her hand for a long moment, seeming almost as surprised as she was by the request. But the surprise quickly turned into tired acceptance. “Yeah.”

Seated they were pretty much the same height, and she only needed to scoot down a little so that she could rest her head on his shoulder. After a moment, his arm came around her as he rested his cheek against the top of her head. His fingers closed over her elbow, the pressure warm, comforting.

Her eyes wanted to close, each blink taking longer and longer for her to pry them back open again. “I can't sit up like this, Varric, there's nothing behind me.” He moved his arm, allowing her to slide backwards up the bed until she was resting against the headboard.

His eyes, still shadowed, appeared to follow her. He didn't move, didn't speak.

“Please stay,” she urged softly.

“Well, shit.” There was a lack of vehemence in his words, just a resigned agreement. He slid off the bed and walked around the side to climb into it properly, settling himself against the solid headboard beside her. There was shifting and rustling and much arranging of pillows, and somehow they ended up mostly reclined, her pointed ear on his shoulder again, his cheek against her hair.

Her hand crept up over his ribs to rest on his bare chest, fingers moving lightly through the thick hair there. “I've always wondered what this felt like,” she murmured sleepily, unaware that she'd spoken out loud until he chuckled, shifting her head against his shoulder.

“Could have just asked, Marigold.”

“I don't think so. Bianca seems like the jealous type.” They lapsed into a comfortable silence, neither really moving, but neither was able to fall asleep either. “I wish today hadn't happened. Promise me that when you write about this, today will be left out.” She knew he wouldn't leave today out, it had been too pivotal. It was a nice thought, though.

“That's the beauty of writing. I can spin anything into anything else. We're not here, half-drunk on exhaustion and mourning this absolutely shit day, we're...” He trailed off into silence, his arm tightening around her.

She smiled despite herself, eyes still closed, and felt her cheek move against his rough shirt. “We're what?”

“I'm a traveling merchant, selling lost treasures and ancient stories across the land.” His voice fell into the almost-hypnotic tone he told stories in, and she appreciated that more than anything else.

She made a soft noise of approval. “And me? Who am I?”

“An elf maiden from the Dales who's never seen this much chest hair on a man before.”

She opened her eyes and lifted her head, looking down into his face for a moment. He was staring past her, up at the ceiling. “I haven't, though. It was the first thing I noticed about you. Elf men typically don't have any chest hair, you know,” she said quite seriously, and then the two of them were lost in laughter.

It wasn't that funny, not really, but they needed to laugh. Laughter kept the tears away. She lay back on her pillow, laughing until her sides were sore. “I wish we could stay here forever. No bickering to settle, no demons to kill...”

He rose up on his elbow this time, leaning over her. “No Curly.” It came out of more of a question than a statement.

“No Bianca,” she returned pointedly, meeting his eyes in the darkness.

Somehow they were kissing then, without any knowledge of who had initiated it. Tongues met, mingling the leftover wine they'd shared. His stubble scraped sharply against her skin, his free hand moved across her waist to settle on her hip, a heavy weight that was somehow reassuring. His lips moved over hers leisurely, as though they had the entire night before them.

Her fingers traced the outline of one of his ears, straying on the thick gold earrings. Down his neck, onto his shoulder under the rough shirt, enjoying the feel of his skin under her fingertips.

She slipped her mouth from his, reaching up to make a path along his jaw to his ear. He muttered something- a curse, encouragement, it didn't matter- as her lips closed over his earlobe, drawing it into her mouth.

His hand, heavily calloused from his beloved weapon, moved over her body as though he was trying to memorize it, gently and purposefully making quick work of her clothes. Instead of settling between her legs, though, he stayed where he was, fingers tracing the lines and curves of her body as though he was going to write about them later.

She felt along his skin, exploring him in the darkness of the room. He was broad, his body carrying the muscles and scars of a life lived in and out of combat. Her fingers caught in the leather thong that held his hair back and pulled it free, spilling the ends down across her face. His hair smelled like woodsmoke, warm and comforting. She wanted to bury her nose in it and never leave.

Varric's clothes melted away, vanished into the darkness beyond them. In the haze of tiredness and pleasure, it was like the bed was the only thing that was real, was solid; that the two of them were the only two people left in Ferelden.

They lingered long into the night, kissing, touching, until at last he fitted himself between her hips and slowly pushed forwards until his cock was fully seated in her wet heat. She twined her legs around him as they rocked slowly together, whispers and sighs the only sounds in the room after the fire had died down. There was no urgency between them, just the gentle comfort as they chased each other's shadows away.

He came with a long sigh, reaching down to rub two fingers lightly over her clit until she fell apart too, head back and gasping.

She wanted him to stay there, his body heavy over hers, his forehead on her pillow. He moved, though, settling down beside her. It seemed a natural thing to curl into him, one arm going across his back as she at last buried her nose in the comforting scent of his hair. The solid thump of his heart lulled her to sleep.

* * *

 

She was alone when she woke up the next morning, not that she'd expected any different. There was a brief thought of whether the previous night had even happened, or if it had all been a dream.

Looking around she sat up, noticing a sheet of paper on the rumpled pillow beside her. She reached over and picked it up, her eyes moving over the familiar writing. It was a quick story- just a couple of paragraphs, really- about an elf maiden and a traveling merchant. It ended in a happy cliché, they two riding off into the sunset, never to be heard from again. She was smiling as a brisk knock sounded at her door.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“I don't think anyone would notice if you opened one. I'm pretty sure you're the only one who comes down here.”

The unexpected voice startled Ellana abruptly out of her thoughts. She whirled from where she'd been standing in front of one of the shelves of rare vintage wines they’d found, her heart in her throat. She'd been staring past the bottles rather than at them, completely lost in thought.

Her eyes focused on the dwarf standing in the doorway, arms folded in front of him and a rather amused look on his face. “You startled me, I was... thinking.”

“I gathered.” He looked up at her for a moment before moving into the small pantry and hoisting himself atop one of the old barrels that stood to one side. With anyone else it might have been comical, but there was a certain gravitas about him that made it decidedly not. He settled there, one hand on his hip as he looked across at her. “You've got that look on your face again.”

Her eyebrows rose at the statement as she turned to face him. “What look?”

He pointed one blunt finger at her face. “That one. The one that says you wish Curly would forget that you're the illustrious leader of the Inquisition.”

She contemplated him for a moment and then sighed. Her feet crunched on the grit on the floor as she moved over to lean against the barrel beside him, arms folded tightly in front of her. “When we found out what actually happened, that it wasn't actually Andraste setting this thing in my hand, I thought it might get easier.”

She shook her head. She’d  _ hoped _ it might get easier. “But still, even when we're alone, there's that reverence in his eyes that doesn't ever quite go away.” She pushed the toe of her boot along the dirt on the stone floor as she stared intently at it. She hated that look. After being faced with it all day from everyone else, it was the last thing she wanted to see when she was taking her clothes off.

“Curly's problem is that he has no imagination. He's a man with a hammer, and all he sees are nails.”

Her eyebrows came together in the trace of a thoughtful frown. “You mentioned that before.”

“He's a soldier- a good one. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have leading this army, but don't tell him I said that.” She smiled at that, and Varric continued. “But he thinks like a soldier. Everything can be solved by hitting it with a stick. The bigger the problem, the bigger the stick you need. And if he comes to a rare problem that can't possibly be solved with a stick, no matter the size, well, that's what Josephine is here for, her and her clipboard.”

“He's never tried hitting me with a stick.” Her lips moved into a humorless smile. “It might help.”

“I think that’s something you’re better asking for from Tiny.” He was silent for a moment. “He’d probably oblige you.”

She nudged his arm with her elbow. “Maybe. At least Bull wouldn't be thinking of me as some kind of mythical being.”

Varric chuckled. “The point is, you're something Curly  _ can't _ hit with a stick, so he doesn't really know what to do with you.” She heard him shift, the creak of leather and rustle of clothes. “No imagination.”

Ellana glanced over to see him sitting there and looking at her, one palm flat on his thigh, the other down at his side. As she looked at him, she realized- “No Bianca?” Her eyebrows rose again in disbelief. She'd only ever seen him without his beloved weapon one time before, and that included nights huddled together with other compatriots on the road.

He offered half of a shrug, face unreadable. There was no explanation forthcoming, and eventually she just looked away again, her eyes moving over the bottles up on the shelf.

“No one dusts down here,” she observed, squinting at the old glass, obscured by a layer of what seemed to be the same grime that ground under her feet when she moved. Maybe that’s what she could do, get a rag and some water and spend the afternoon scrubbing. At least then maybe she’d feel like she was doing something productive.

“If there were a danger of anyone coming down here, would  _ you  _ be here?”

He had a good point. Her shoulders slumped just a little. “You're here.”

“Only because I saw you sneaking away. For an elf, you're not exactly stealthy.” She recognized the dry tone he used to tease his friends.

“ _ You're _ the spy,” she returned. She was glad things hadn't become awkward between them. It was like the night in her chambers had never even happened. “You followed me down here?”

She heard him shift again, and looked over to see the tail end of his shrug. “You had that look on your face.” He was was staring across the small room, but when she looked at him, his eyes came over to meet hers. There was an intensity there that made a faint stain of color heat her cheeks, though why she wasn't entirely sure.

“And you can forget that I'm... me?”

He had an easy smile for that. “I told you, Marigold, I'm a writer. I may not hit you with a stick, but I can spin whatever truths I need to.” That was the look she wanted to see from Cullen; knowing heat, not a trace of reverence or deference. “The stick is negotiable, if it would help.”

A laugh burst free even as she looked away. Heat spread down her cheeks to her neck.  _ I should probably go.  _ She made no move to leave, though, instead staring at the rough gray floor.  _ It's just a look _ , she told herself.  _ Nothing is actually happening. _

Time stretched out, neither moving or saying anything. The silence was comfortable, though there was an underlying hint of tension that seemed to grow as the seconds ticked by. “I should get back,” Ellana said at last. “Something is bound to come up.”

A hand closed over her upper arm. “Stay.” Varric’s low voice held an unmistakable promise.

There were so many reasons not to. She had... whatever she had with Cullen, she was fairly certain that Bianca was actually a person somewhere that he felt some sort of attachment to... But, as she looked over at him again, the look in his eyes was exactly what she needed to see. “Yeah.” She turned around and stepped over to him, between where his legs were hanging over the sides of the barrel.

Lips met and caught as her palms rested gently on either side of his open coat. The kiss lingered on and on until she eventually moved back. She opened her eyes to look at him. “I thought this wasn't going to happen again.” She made her tone playful, but the underlying question was sincere. She could hear it, the slight quaver in her tone.

They'd never specifically talked about it, but the  _ not _ talking about it had seemed to mean something. And then, of course, there was the story he'd quickly written about the merchant prince and the elf from the Dales and how they were never seen or heard from again. Not exactly subtle.

“I don't know what you mean!” Mock-indignation, amber eyes wide with innocence. “I'm fairly sure this is the first time we've met in your wine cellar.”

It was impossible for her not to smile. “That's true enough.”

“No hard feelings if you want to leave, Marigold.” His hand slipped around her waist, settling in the small of her back. “All I'm offering you is a little anonymity for a while.”

Her eyebrows rose again and the smile grew. “A while?”

An answering smirk spread across his face. “Oh, at least six or seven minutes.”

She considered it. It wasn't as though she and Cullen had actually made any sort of commitment to each other... “Now, how can I refuse an offer like that?” Quashing any lingering feelings of guilt, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his.

She pulled away after just a moment. “What if someone comes down here?”

He leaned back enough to really look at her. “We could climb all the way up to your room if it would make you feel better, but I thought we already established that no one comes down here.” One hand lifted so he could trace the point and gentle curve of her ear. “We’d hear them, early enough for you to get your legs off my shoulders.”

His light touch sent a shiver through her. “My legs aren’t on your shoulders.”

“Well, not yet. Give me another two or three minutes, Marigold.” His fingers caught behind her neck, and he pulled her in for another searing kiss.

Ellana couldn’t get enough of touching him, her hands ranging over his broad chest. He may have been joking about six or seven minutes, but they really didn’t have that much time. That was all that stopped her from pulling his tunic open and leisurely exploring what had been obscured by the haze of tired darkness last time.

Instead she found the laces at the front of his trousers. She undid them and slipped inside, nimbly bypassing his small clothes until her fingers curled around the length of his cock.

He groaned as his lips fell from hers and his head come to rest against her shoulder. “Maybe you do have what it takes to be a pickpocket.”

She smiled, almost giddy as she worked her closed fist along his length. His lips touched over her neck, teeth catching against her skin as he bucked against her. He was going to leave a mark. Part of her didn’t care. She’d be able to see it when she looked in the mirror, be able to see the sharp reminder that Varric saw her as a person.

But everyone else would be able to see it, too. She shifted back just enough that he had to lift his head to look at her. His eyes were dark with desire. “What are you up to?”

She didn’t answer, instead just bent forward. She had to push his clothes out of the way, but at least were soft against her face when she opened her mouth and took him deep inside.

“Maker’s-” His fingers caught in her hair, his hand warm against her scalp.

She tucked her lips around her teeth, her tongue working along his shaft as she bobbed up and down. Slowly at first, until he picked up the rhythm. She matched the pace of his hips as he rocked up to meet her.

She hummed, a fresh reminder that they didn’t have much time, and she heard his breath catch. So she did it again. The urgency seemed to press in on her, and she sucked him down almost desperately.

His fingers closed in her hair, tugging just a little as he went still. Silence fell heavy around them, a hush that seemed to encompass the entire world. He let out a heavy breath as his cock pulsed in her mouth, flooding it with the salty taste of his come.

She swallowed as she straightened away, a small smile on her face. And none too soon, because it was only another moment before she heard heavy boots on the stairs.

She stepped away from Varric and quickly pushed her fingers through her hair, hopefully straightening out any mussing he’d done. Too bad she didn’t have a mirror.

“Inquisitor,” came Cullen’s voice as he rounded the corner. He stopped short, his eyes moving between her and the dwarf on the barrel behind her. Ellana could see the question there, but still, always, the reverence.

She forced a bright smile. “Varric was recommending wine to me.” Maybe it wasn’t  _ quite _ a lie. “Maybe then I’d actually be able to sleep at night.”

The question was replaced by a look of commiseration, although the reverence didn’t leave. “We have that report you were waiting for, and Leliana-”

Ellana didn’t bother to stifle her sigh. “Yes, alright. I’ll be in the war room in just a minute. It just never ends.” She shook her head.

“Yes, of course.” Cullen hesitated. When she made no move to start walking for the stairs, his eyebrows drew down. “I’ll meet you there, then?”

“Please. I’ve narrowed it down to two bottles, I think.” That  _ was _ a lie.

“Of course.” The hint of a smile moved across Cullen’s face before he turned and left. The sound of his boots went back up the stairs.

Ellana let out a long breath of air. “Back to it, I suppose.” Her reluctance was only due in very small part to the desire that had built up deep inside her body.

Varric’s fingers closed around her upper arm, and he tugged her gently towards him. “That wasn’t how that was supposed to go, Marigold. Your legs didn’t come anywhere near my shoulders.”

She smiled as she leaned in and brushed her lips over his. “You offered anonymity. You more than delivered.” Her palm came up to rest against the side of his face. “Maybe I’ll see Bull about that stick later.”

He chuckled. His amber eyes searched hers for a moment before he reached up to trace the edge of her ear. “Go be important. When it gets to be too much…” There was the hint of a question there, the barest hesitation.

“You always do seem to know how to find me.” She pressed her hand over his before turning and leaving. The grit crunched under her feet. Maybe a rag and a bucket of water wasn’t such a bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost three years later. This has changed from its previous incarnation on ffnet, too. I think it's a more complete chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

“What are we drinking?” Dorian asked as he settled down on the seat beside Ellana. 

She was tucked away in the back corner on a rough bench borrowed from somewhere, not too far away from where Bull usually sat. She’d sat there specifically because she knew Bull would keep anyone from bothering her. And just then… Just then she wanted a chance to drown her sorrows at the bottom of a bottle of brandy.

Anyone except Dorian, it seemed. Although he was maybe the one person she didn’t mind joining her. He was her favorite drinking companion, to be sure.

She looked up at him, eyes slightly narrowed as she focused on his face. “You’re really pretty,” she said seriously. Not really an answer to his question.

He tsked, his expression one of sympathy. “Ah, the,  _ I just broke up with my exceedingly attractive ex-templar boyfriend and now I'm wondering if it was a terrible mistake _ . I hear that's a good year.”

Her look grew rather sharp. She gave his shoulder a shove, or tried to, and almost fell off the bench for her effort.

He caught her easily with a chuckle. The bench scraped on the wooden floor as he scooted closer and propped her up against his shoulder with her arm around her.

That wasn’t bad. He was comfortable, at least. And he smelled nice. “He wasn't my boyfriend, you know. Not really, and it was mutual. We were looking for… different things.” She could practically see Cullen’s face as he said those exact words.  _ I don’t think this is working. We’re just… looking for different things _ .

“Mm, yes, I'm sure you were.” Dorian’s tone was more amused than sympathetic. “If by,  _ looking for different things _ , you mean you were looking for something with a truly impressive amount of chest hair, and every time he looked at you he couldn't decide whether to bow or stick his tongue in your ear.”

Ellana choked on her mouthful of what she'd been assured was the finest Antivan brandy, coughing and spluttering while her friend pounded her on the back. When she could breathe again, the glare resumed, but he merely smiled and pried the bottle out of her hand. 

He took an experimental sniff at the open mouth of the bottle, then a small drink. “Ah. This is  _ lovely _ .”

“It should be.” She cleared her throat, her voice still a little raspy. “Josephine gave it to me.”

“Impeccable taste, that one. Well, in some cases, anyway; her taste in men is...” He offered an elegant shrug, taking another drink before placing the bottle on the overturned crate she was using as a table.

“Really? I thought you liked the rugged ones.” She gave a pointed look behind him to where Bull seemed to be making sure that she wasn't poisoned or choking to death or something. When she caught his eye, his lips twisted into a knowing smile before he turned his attention away.

“Not usually. He's a bit of an exception, really.” Dorian shifted in his seat, looking intently at the bottle in front of them. “But we’re not drinking over  _ my _ personal life, at least not this time.” He seemed to study her for a moment. “Was it a mistake, my dear?” The question was quiet and earnest.

She had to think about that for a second, then let out a long sigh. “No?”

“You don’t sound very certain.” His eyes cut to her as he lifted the bottle for another drink.

She let her head loll back against his shoulder as she thought about it. “I don’t think so. I feel  _ terrible _ , though. Mostly because I feel like it should have worked? He’s not pretty like you, but he is handsome.” 

“He most certainly is.” Dorian’s admiration was clear, and that wasn’t the first time she’d heard it.

“And he’s nice, and he’s sweet…”

“And he’s two seconds away from putting you up on one of those pedestals in the garden.”

Ellana sighed and snuggled in against his side as much as she could. He seemed intent on finishing her brandy, but she didn’t really mind. “He is.” She thought for a moment, then lifted her head and focused on his face. “What do you mean about the…”

“Impressive amount of chest hair? You  _ do  _ remember my paramour's chosen profession, do you not?”

She glanced at Bull again before giving Dorian an appraising look. “Spy, you mean?”

“Indeed. He's trained to notice things that most people don't. For instance, of late when you encounter a certain dwarf of our mutual acquaintance, you flush just slightly, and your breathing gets a bit more rapid.” He met her eyes, seeming to look right through her. “I, naturally, suggested that the two of you may just have gotten into a heated argument, though from the way our dear commander is tossing things about his office...”

She looked away. The liquid sloshed inside the bottle as she grabbed it from him, but instead of taking a drink, she ran a finger down the seam along the side of the cool glass. 

Her non-answer was as good as an answer, and her companion chuckled. “Ah, so things did become… heated.”

“In a manner of speaking.” She met his eyes, but her gaze dropped away from the amused curiosity she saw there. “Twice.” If he wasn't such a good friend, she wouldn't have admitted it, but she always had a hard time keeping things from Dorian. He wouldn't gossip, either, not when he knew it was so serious to her.

“Really.” The single word was drawn out, a slight drop in pitch at the end. “And?”

“And what?” Ellana shook her head before taking another drink. She was beginning to feel a little light and warm. She'd gone through the top third of the bottle quite quickly, and it seemed to be hitting all at once.

“And what!?” Dorian gave an indignant sniff. “Details, my dear. If he did well enough to warrant not only a repeat performance but the end of your not-relationship with the commander of our troops, I  _ need  _ to hear about it.”

She shook her head again, the movement somewhat exaggerated. “I didn't end whatever Cullen and I had for him. He's got someone somewhere, I'm sure of it.” She was positive Bianca had been named for someone.

He took the bottle back and had another drink. “So then… What?”

“He looked at me. Really looked at me like I was…” she trailed off and slumped against his side. “The way Bull looks at you.”

“Mmm.” It was almost a delighted purr, the noise that came up from the depths of his chest. “Yes, I can see how that might be persuasive. Still, though, I wouldn't recommend you bandy about your fully single state. I would be very much surprised if there weren’t fifty offers for your hand in marriage. Within the hour.” He paused, seeming to think. “Then again, I'm sure it won't take too long before the rumors get out. He was making  _ such  _ a racket in there.”

She groaned and bent practically double to rest her arms on the crate and bury her head in her sleeve. Gossip did fly around the keep faster than one of Sera’s arrows. That was the  _ last _ thing she needed.

“There, there, my dear. I'm quite sure Josephine will turn them down tactfully.” He paused, rubbing one hand soothingly over her back. “Mutual, you say?”

She nodded, her forehead pressing into her elbow with the movement. And when she spoke, her voice was considerably muffled. “Yes. He said something about being worried that something something interfering with his duty.” 

This was comfortable. Maybe she could just leave her eyes closed and stay here for a while. Someone could throw a blanket over her, she could get an hour or two of uninterrupted sleep. Until they found her again, demanding she sign something, or listen to someone, or whatever they were going to do.

“You, my dear, are quite poor at holding your liquor. Sera suffers the same way, is it an elven trait?” He was practically laughing he was so amused, but she didn’t care. She’d seen him completely soused more than once.

She mumbled something that got lost between her lips and his ear, and he chuckled. “I'm carrying you up to my room, you can sleep it off there. Speaking of rumors, this should keep the proposals at bay for at least a little while.”

She was aware of being lifted into his arms and cradled against his solid body. “You know, if you weren't an elf, I'd probably have to get Bull to take you out of here. That really  _ would  _ set tongues wagging, wouldn't it?”

She smiled, a clumsy facsimile of an appreciative grin at his dry humor. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and the gentle swaying motion as he moved made her a bit queasy.

“Oh no, you are  _ not  _ going to vomit all over my new coat.” There was a stern note in his voice as it floated down from somewhere above her. “Do you need me to set you down for a moment?”

She shook her head, eyes still closed. Just as long as she stopped moving soon, her stomach would be fine.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before she was set down on something soft. It smelled nice, like Dorian. Dorian always smelled so nice. She wasn’t sure if she said that out loud or not, but by his laughter, it seemed like it. 

“Are you staying?” She reached for him blindly, and her hand closed over his bare forearm.

“Of course I am. Although…” He smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “I could find someone else to sit with you. A dwarf, perhaps?”

She forced her eyes open to glare at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Not really. Not this time, at least. No promises if this happens again.” Dorian had her bottle of brandy, but he could keep it. He took a swig before reclining back on the pillow beside her. He looked… He looked more relaxed than he had in a while.

“How’s Bull?”

“Oh,  _ are _ we drinking over my personal life now? I’m afraid there’s nothing really to drink over, for the time being. I’m blissfully happy, which seems odd to say, but here we are. Of course, I keep expecting something to happen.” His bitter laugh sounded a little forced. “Something always seems to happen. Still, I’m determined to enjoy this for as long as I can.”

She petted the front of his shirt. It really was as soft as it looked. “You’re allowed to be happy, Dorian. You deserve to be happy.”

“Like you?” His tone made her look at him, but eyes were entirely too piercing as they met hers.

“No.” She closed her eyes and turned away from him. The room seemed to spin even more, so she turned on her back again. “I’m not allowed to be happy. Too much to do.”

“Do you know, that almost sounds like a challenge.” His hand was warm as it rested over her shoulder. “Cheer up. You don’t feel nearly as bad as you’ll feel in the morning.”

She groaned at that, but he did manage to make her smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Dorian so much. I love me some noodles, too, but nothing can compare to that chest hair.

**Author's Note:**

> Brought over from ffnet and made more smutty. (And edited just slightly- how did I miss that Varric called Merrill, Daisy?) The rest will probably come over as I get inspired.


End file.
